Spit for Rank: Mid-Human Disaster

_popupControl(); …As the hourglass smashes, time clashes with burnt ashes in passion in the mist…
Transforms to dust, dances with the wind kissed, arrival of animosities death grip …
Heaven or hell? Brisk torn-worn emotion as the raw passion for life quickly is born…
In my eyes, torturous cries-in our lives, we strive, struggle, only to meet our demise…
Surprised, that the time of man is trembling in the shadows of pain suffice, we fight?
Only to realise, nuclear power rains on our empty skies… shrivelled empty lives.

Pulsating heartbeat, we creep in bare feet, we weep as we sleep, as eyes do meet…
Blind, refined to hidden contracts of governments they bind, unknown to our minds…
Perilous fate we suddenly find, between destinies, yet we’re out of time, venomous…
Snakes in the grass, that clasp our grasp on reality as their poison revealed a laugh…
Bush seals our death as he scars another path, opens the window of opportunity…
Only to unleash a cold shivering draft, pivoting fast, as humanity arrives at last…
Yet only to cast, a warmonger on the loose to drop bombs in Iraq, it’s a story…
That shall ever be told as alumni glory, in between life and death, but surely…
The perverted sense of senseless violence would choke a smile on every face…
Appal every trace, of our evidently hate race, shimmered yet fallen from grace.

Reacts faster…
Human disaster…
Chokes laughter…
From here ever after…
I bow down to no political master.

Dissolved in a sedative smile, resolved only by mindless optimism as we lay docile…
Afraid to speak, our minds are the key to survive, so allow your brainchild to weep…
The smell corroded dreams, fills the nostrils of every child’s wallowing screams…
Taken from our power, we simultaneously cower, yet our society’s flower, wilts.

…Politics acts as our thorn our splinter, bloodthirsty killers, they born life’s winter…
Documents of love failed to make acquaintance with the printer… I really wish this…
Thing branded as time could back track on it’s actions thus gods wishes to reverse…
Our peoples stitches… I kiss the mist, as the bliss the missed, was cold and brisk…
So we shall pray to God as we realise, it’s a mid-human-life’s crisis.